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“I’m going to call your daughter,” my mother declared. “She’s likely feeling anxious.”
At 97 years old, my mom is eager to share her wisdom as my daughter approaches the final weeks of her first pregnancy. It’s fascinating how life expectancy has changed, allowing for this unique generational overlap.
“That’s sweet, Mom. She’s doing well, but I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing from you,” I replied.
“I want to share my insights on childbirth,” she insisted, her determination shining through.
Considering my mother’s remarkable vitality for someone born in 1924—she effortlessly navigates stairs, enjoys a cocktail, and never holds back an opinion—I found her eagerness charming. However, her eyesight may be poor, her short-term memory is fading, and her judgment can be a bit off at times.
I reminded her that today’s expecting mothers have access to an abundance of information about pregnancy and childbirth, far beyond what I had when I was pregnant in the ‘80s. I’ve been in awe of how much my daughter knows about fetal development—the stages of kidney function, eyelash growth, and even the precise measurements of her baby’s spine.
Back in my mother’s day in the 1950s, such technology was nonexistent. When I was pregnant, I had just one blurry sonogram, while my daughter has vivid images of her baby’s heart in full color.
“Mom,” I gently pointed out, “childbirth has evolved significantly since you had us.”
“Nonsense,” she retorted. “A baby is a baby. Besides, you had two C-sections. I delivered mine the natural way, so I have more experience.”
“But didn’t you have twilight sleep or some gas?” I asked.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, dear, I can’t recall. It wasn’t a big deal. Every generation believes they’ve come up with a new way to give birth.”
The next day, I spoke with my daughter.
“Grandmommy called,” she said. “We had a wonderful talk.”
“Did she share any childbirth advice?” I inquired.
“Not really. She mostly recounted how challenging you and your siblings were as babies. And she was shocked to learn that my husband would be in the delivery room.”
“Oh dear. But she means well,” I said, though I never quite understood that phrase. I knew my daughter was apprehensive about labor and delivery—every first-time mother is. She needed encouragement, not horror stories.
Then my daughter surprised me. “Your mom gave me a pep talk. She told me I’m strong and smart, and that I’ll be fine.”
That left me speechless. My daughter possesses strength, intelligence, and a fiery spirit, much like her 97-year-old grandmother. That legacy will help her navigate this journey, and I have no doubt she will be just fine.